


Four Fathers

by elwinfortuna



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Pregnancy, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:02:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27177578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elwinfortuna/pseuds/elwinfortuna
Summary: The complicated parentage of Ereinion Gil-galad, High King of the Noldor.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo
Comments: 5
Kudos: 42
Collections: Innumerable Stars 2020





	Four Fathers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mertiya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/gifts).



**FA 444, Himring**

The wind howled just outside, screaming round the curves of the towers like the cries of the damned. Sleet pounded against the windows, which were formed of toughened elven-glass to withstand the worst of Himring's winters, and the outside walkways all over the castle were too dangerous to traverse. 

Himring was huddled down for the winter storms. The servants lay snug in their warm rooms near the kitchens, and the guards wrapped in their warmest garments gathered round braziers in the towers and hardly bothered to keep watch, for nothing could be seen or heard above the storm, and no Orc or evil creature would be out in it if they could by any means avoid it. 

In the high tower suite that was the retreat and home of Maedhros Fëanorion, the scarred and battered Lord of Himring, all was quiet and peaceful. Wrapped in a warm wool blanket, he lay curled up on the bed, drowned in the peace of sleep, face smoothed into relaxation, and beside him, curled around him, a long arm draped over him, Fingon lay, eyes wide, watching his Russandol sleep. Both were naked, as was their wont when together alone, and their kiss-swollen lips, along with the small bottle of oil and selection of toys on the bedside table, was clearly indicative of what they had been up to a few hours before. 

Fingon was perfectly silent, which was unusual for him. Only in the depth of his bright eyes could one see the quick flicker and complex murmur of his thoughts, blazing as hot as the fire upon the hearth nearby. Love always awakened him, revitalised him, and he could never sleep through storms. He pressed close, kissing the back of Maedhros' shoulder, sliding under the wool blanket next to him. 

Maedhros was warm under the blanket, a constellation of starry scars across his sunburnt skin. The years had softened his aches and pains until he was hale and whole once more, and he had regained every bit of passionate fire that Fingon had ever seen within him. The shadow of what he had endured would remain forever, but time had done its work, and he was fully as strong as he had ever been in the long-ago days of the Trees. 

The fire crackled and suddenly popped loudly as a branch broke, startling Fingon out of his thoughts. Next to him, the soft colours of Maedhros' dreams flickered still through his mind, half-muted as he began to wake. Fingon laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder and whispered peace to him. Slowly the colours faded back in again. 

Fingon sighed softly, rolling onto his back, still close to Maedhros. Long ago on the Grinding Ice, a storm such as this would have meant death and agony. Now here and safe in Himring, it meant shelter. There were no grand deeds to do just now. The storm could rage on all it liked, until spring if it cared to. 

Maedhros' dreams faded again, and he slowly stirred, turning around to face Fingon. "Look at you," he murmured. "So handsome. How can I sleep when you're here and naked in my bed?"

"Because I wore you out?" Fingon said, laughing, stroking Maedhros' hair. 

Maedhros wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close, pressing kisses to his face. "Clearly not enough yet," he whispered, eyes shining with delight. 

Fingon raised his mouth for a kiss and Maedhros obliged, long and slow and sweet. "What do you want?" he asked after a moment, looking over at the bedside table. 

"You inside me," Fingon answered, and as Maedhros reached over for the oil, went on, "not in that way." 

"Do you mean...?" Maedhros said, hand retreating. "But we don't, we've never..." 

"Would you like to have a child?" Fingon asked, smiling. 

"You know that I would!" Maedhros said, sitting up in bed. "But what brought this on? I thought it was not something you wished for."

Fingon sat up too, against the pillows, reaching out for Maedhros' hand with both of his own. "I have been thinking about it," he said. "Thinking about it for years, in fact. And I do want a child."

"Yes, but do you want what we need to do to get one?" Maedhros asked, his face quite serious. 

Fingon nodded. "I'd like to try at least. I've tried with toys before and it's been nice." 

Maedhros couldn't restrain a grin at that. "I would've liked to see that." He bent forward to press a kiss to Fingon's lips. "All right. But you tell me to stop if there's anything you're not enjoying."

Unhurried, Fingon kissed Maedhros until they were rocking against each other, until Fingon reached down between them and guided Maedhros into himself, carefully but smoothly. They both sighed in pleasure and slowly moved into rhythm. 

Maedhros, propping himself up on his stump, bent his head to kiss and worry at Fingon's nipples, then sucked at one of them for a moment. Fingon gasped at that, overwhelmed, and came, orgasm crashing down over him, drowning him in pleasure. Maedhros followed quickly, and for a long while they lay joined together, bodies sated, their minds united in bliss.

* * *

**One year later**

"Gil-galad," Fingon breathed, looking down at the baby in his arms. "A star is born." 

"An heir is born," Maedhros said. "The House of Fëanor and the House of Fingolfin come together in harmony at last. I shall call him Ereinion, for that's what he is." 

Fingon smiled up at Maedhros. "Speaking of the House of Fingolfin, my father will be pleased. He's been keen for me get an heir from someone, somewhere!" 

"From his Dispossessed half-brother's House?" Maedhros said, laughing. 

"He'll just be so pleased that one exists now!" Fingon said, and true to his word, the door swung open just then, and the High King hurried in. 

"Oh, he's perfect!" Fingolfin breathed, taking Gil-galad into his arms.

* * *

**Eleven years later**

"It's the safest place for him," Fingon said. "A fortress on the border of Anfauglith is no place for a child to grow up."

Maedhros frowned. "Himring is not any better than Barad Eithel, or I would take him myself. Love, I hate to say it, but you're right. He should go to Círdan."

"Sometimes I fear I waited too long," Fingon said. "We should have had him years ago, not on the very edge of the end of the Long Peace." 

"No," Maedhros said. "We had him when you wanted to. There was no other way it could have been done." 

Fingon glanced over the letters he had been writing. "I shall send him with our best guards, and first he shall stay for a time in Nargothrond. My old friend Orodreth will be pleased to see him. Then a year or so later, he will travel onward to Círdan. Breaking the journey this way will, I hope, distract and confuse any of the Enemy's spies who might be following." 

"That is well-thought of," Maedhros said. "There is a price upon your head and all who are related to you, and the capture of your son would be a great coup for the Enemy. I would accompany him myself, but I fear my presence would only draw the danger closer. Far better that I draw them away by heading toward Himring around the same time."

"I have heard tell that Tol Sirion is besieged and Orcs roam as far as Brethil," Fingon said. "I will send Gil-galad to Mithrim, then to Dor-lomin, and over the mountains to Irvin and thence to Nargothrond. No Orc could track so far in those lands, which for the most part remain safe. It is a longer road, but safer for him. And at the same time, I will go out part of the way with you, and we shall harry Orcs at the Fen of Serech together, before you go on." 

Maedhros smiled sadly and kissed Fingon's forehead. "My valiant one," he said.

* * *

**Fifty-three years later**

"I cannot claim kinship with the House of Fëanor," Gil-galad said, as he and Círdan sat talking over the news of the fall of Gondolin, and of Turgon the High King. "Perhaps if they had not so recently been responsible for the death of Dior and the destruction of Doriath, then it would be no matter, for in so many other ways Lord Maedhros has defended Beleriand. But the House is Dispossessed and must remain dispossessed." 

"Then put it about that Orodreth is your father," Círdan said. "No one would ever suspect Orodreth of being involved with one of the House of Fëanor. And he was as a father to you, if only for a little while." 

"Indeed he was," Gil-galad said with a sigh. His days in Nargothrond, ultimately ending up at about six years rather than just one, held fond memories, and he still grieved the deaths of Orodreth and Finduilas, fifteen years before. "But there will always be those who know the truth." 

Círdan shook his head. "All those who know for sure are loyal to you and will understand. You are the last male heir to the House of Finwë in direct line, Ereinion. You were born for this very reason. Who else can it be? Idril? Galadriel?"

"Eärendil is a child and cannot rule. Idril does not wish to be High Queen. Galadriel, last I heard, was on the other side of the Ered Luin, wandering in Eriador and lands far to the south. All the rest are Dispossessed or dead. It must be me, or it will be no one. Would it be so bad for it to be no one?" 

"Only if you are content to have the remnant of the Noldor picked off bit by bit, until none remain. They need a leader, and it must be you." 

"Then it shall be me," Gil-galad said. He put a hand on Círdan's arm. "I think, if I count them all up, I have four fathers, for you have also been as a father to me."

Círdan smiled and ruffled Gil-galad's hair. "We won't tell them that. You look nothing like me!"


End file.
